


sinking/synching

by dygonilly



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bickering, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Personal Growth, Pseudoscience, Strangers to Lovers, Too much talk about the stars, Training partners falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dygonilly/pseuds/dygonilly
Summary: Mingyu looks back at the tablet in his hand. Seokmin’s beaming face and near-perfect scores look back at him. Three weeks. That’s all the time they have before Control is throwing Seokmin in a brown uniform and into the back of a carrier ship.If Mingyu is to be the one to dictate how steady his hands are around his weapon, then he will make them unshakeable.
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Lee Seokmin | DK
Comments: 17
Kudos: 131
Collections: Match Point: The SEVENTEEN Sports Fic Fest





	sinking/synching

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVTSportsFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTSportsFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> _Oof training partners of any kind falling in love ?? Could be boxing/wrestling/martial arts of any kind I just crave the physical intimacy of knowing someone's body and their thoughts so well but not yet being romantically involved?? Its about the tension,, its about the yearning,,, its about accidentally getting too close !!_  
>    
> Dear prompter, I hope the liberties I took are ones that you enjoy. Thank you for a fun idea, I had a lovely time writing it. Title and epigraph are taken from '21 M00N WATER' by Bon Iver. 
> 
> [The playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1MO99vKc1vztjdFNUOSXL1?si=vnBlvD96QYivy0phSfjYqQ)
> 
> (cw: minor mentions of injury, but nothing happens 'on screen')

*

_Now I'm more  
_ _Than I am when we started_

*

“They need him ready for active duty by the next Wave.”

Mingyu gapes. “That’s less than four weeks away.” 

Jeonghan tilts his head sympathetically. “I know. But he’s already very good—the best out of the trainees. They flew him over from the Eastern Base.”

“And Soonyoung has led eight inter-planet missions in two years,” Mingyu bites. “Don’t tell me they’re seriously replacing him with some new guy.”

“They’re not. He’s just back up.”

“So who’s leading?” 

Jeonghan shrugs, eyes evasive. Mingyu’s face falls. 

“You’re not serious...”

“It wasn’t my call. Mingyu—”

Mingyu is already out of his seat, barrelling out of Jeonghan’s office and forgoing the elevators for the emergency stairs, taking them two at a time until he’s on the third floor. People move out of his way without even looking up, and Mingyu would laugh at his reputation being equitable to a bull set loose inside, but he’s too distracted.

He gets to the Strategy room and is fidgeting so much that he has to scan his thumbprint three times. When the door finally unlocks with a burst of air, he pushes through before it’s even open all the way and clips his shoulder painfully. “What the hell are you thinking?” he calls, storming into the room.

“Oh, you’ve heard,” says Minghao, not looking away from the topographical map spread out before him. The glowing blue holograms build and collapse like sand at every swipe of his fingers. He taps a cliffside and frowns when it crumbles.

“Myungho, you can’t lead a mission. You’re not—”

“Not what, hm?” Minghao pinches the hologram and tosses it up into the air, spinning it once. He finds something amongst the mess of light and turns to the young woman at his side with bright eyes. “We’ll need single-man fighters. Two of them, plus the carrier. The terrain isn’t stable enough for one big vehicle.” The woman nods and scurries off, and only then does Minghao turn to Mingyu. “Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’ve already told Control that I’ll lead in Soonyoung’s absence.”

“Then tell them you changed your mind,” Mingyu urges. “Surely there’s someone else who can do it.”

“There is. But they asked me, so I’m going. It’s called duty, Mingyu.”

“It’s also called being an idiot,” Mingyu snaps, crossing his arms with a huff. 

Minghao regards him with a smile growing around his eyes, skin washed blue by the lights of the map. His hair will need to be cut before he goes on the mission. It’s all over his ears, his eyebrows, his temples. His smile catches up to his mouth and he _giggles._

“Don’t,” Mingyu whines.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao laughs, reaching up to cradle Mingyu’s jaw in his hands. “You’re just so terrible at being angry.”

Mingyu sighs. “I’m not angry, Myungho. I’m just—I want you to be careful.”

Minghao’s thumb smooths over the apple of his cheek and he nods, smile dimming to something a little more serious. “I will be. I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Mingyu says, voice small.

“Last time we were doing recon on a foreign planet and the pressure checks malfunctioned. It was a freak accident. This is a routine mission. They do it every three months. Plus—” He tips Mingyu’s face down so he can see him smile “—I hear there’s a new transfer, and the best trainer in the force is going to work with him.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, but he melts at the morsel of praise, shoulders shrugging up to meet his ears. Minghao giggles sweetly.

Two officers walk into the Strategy room, talking. Minghao pats his cheek with a wink before putting some space between them and acknowledging the officers with a bow of his head. Most people know that they’re closer than coworkers, training together from day one and blazing a trail through the academy in record time; most people don’t care, but Minghao is particular about his professionalism. Back straight, uniform perfect, words chosen carefully. Mingyu loves him like this, but he loves him when he’s smiling and tactile even more, and without the grounding feeling of his touch, he is flung back into the anxiety that brought him here. He watches Minghao pick up the tablet beside the map with his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Do you think I can do it?”

Minghao doesn’t reply right away, typing something on the screen. Mingyu likes this about him, too. He’s always honest. Even when it’s not the easiest way to be. He looks Mingyu in the eye, commanding his attention.

“I think you don’t have a choice. Either you train him to be good enough to join the mission, or you don’t.”

*

Mingyu walks to the barracks just after sunrise. The air is cool and humid thanks to a burst of rain overnight; the road smells richer underfoot. He takes his time, makes a detour through one of the secondary hangars, marvelling at the line up of sleek jets and de-commissioned escape pods; one of them is sparking from the side as an engineer pulls it open for parts. The ceiling is a far-off thing and the air is thick with bio-fuel and metallics.

He never has much reason to be here, considering that his training takes place on the ground instead of miles or light years away from it—but he does love it here. The controlled chaos of it. The scale of the ships compared to their pilots and passengers, the way they block out the sun and aggravate the air whenever they take off.

He recognises some of the pilots doing training drills at the mouth of the runway and calls out a hello, waving with the hand not in his pocket. When he asks for a joyride with his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, Lee Jihoon shoots him his middle finger from the cockpit.

“Love you too,” Mingyu calls up to him, watching Jihoon click around on the dashboard of his gun-metal grey fighter. This is the only time Mingyu doesn’t have to crane his neck to look down when they talk; he enjoys teasing Jihoon about the complex it gives him to pilot a big vehicle, even if it earns him a punch to the gut more often than not.

“Heard you got stuck on babysitting duty,” Jihoon says, sounding pleased.

“You know the guy?”

“Barely. He came over to introduce himself yesterday. Friendly. Smart. Talks too much.”

Mingyu grins. “You say that about everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

“Just me, then? Hyung, I’m flattered.”

Jihoon pulls on his helmet and his next words are fed through his comms, crackling and sharp. “Get off my runway, Mingyu,” he says, then he pushes a button that pulls the glass over his head and seals off the cockpit with a heavy click. The engine begins to rumble, a low hum chased by lights flickering on along the wings, and Mingyu sends a salute to the cockpit before jogging off to a safe distance; Jihoon doesn’t ask twice.

His jet takes off into the east to join the other pinpricks dancing in the sky. Mingyu watches them shift through several formations with his hand held over his eyes to shield them from the sun until they go too far to follow.

The moons are still visible above the horizon when he turns around: great big swathes of white against the violet haze of dawn. He holds his fingers up in the approximation of a camera, frames them just right, and clicks.

*

“You’re late,” Kihyun says over his shoulder. He’s facing the floor to ceiling window that looks out over the indoor training grounds with his hands clasped behind his back, navy-blue uniform pressed to perfection.

Mingyu joins him with a smile. “Nobody gave me a time, _officer_ ,” he says, dialling up the charm when Kihyun rolls his eyes. He scans the barracks spread out below them, watching the men and women tumble through obstacle courses and hand-to-hand combat drills. “Where is he?”

Kihyun points to the long stretch of ground at the far right that is reserved for target practise, where a small crowd has formed around a dark-haired man with broad shoulders as he smoothly notches an arrow on a sleek black bow.

Lee Seokmin takes one slow breath in and out before releasing his arrow. The holographic target lights up: a perfect shot.

“He hasn’t hit lower than a nine,” Kihyun says.

“Today?” Mingyu asks, impressed.

Kihyun shakes his head. “Since he arrived.”

Mingyu whistles. Seokmin hits another bullseye and turns around to watch the crowd’s reaction. Even through the tinted glass of Kihyun’s office, Mingyu can see the sheen of his teeth when he smiles.

“What do they need me to train him for?” he asks absently. “If he’s good enough to be transferred then he should be good enough for a mission. Or do they have lower standards at the Eastern Base?”

Kihyun ignores the jab. He drifts away from the window to collect a tablet off his desk and passes it to Mingyu, who scrolls through Seokmin’s training record with high eyebrows. His numbers are incredible. Top rank in almost every field. 

“He’s got the techniques down,” Kihyun says. “It’s the conviction that he lacks. I’m afraid sending him into the field now would be a risk. He’s too prone to hesitating. It could get him hurt.”

“So I’m training him to believe in himself?” Mingyu asks, unable to keep the mocking tone from his voice. It sounds like a waste of his talents. Kihyun levels him with a flat look that sends him back four years to his own time wearing a dark grey uniform and tumbling around these barracks. He resists the urge to cower under it like he used to.

“You’re training him to be fit for duty,” Kihyun says sternly. “Whatever that looks like.”

Mingyu looks back at the tablet in his hand. Seokmin’s beaming face and near-perfect scores look back at him. Three weeks. That’s all the time they have before Control is throwing Seokmin in a brown uniform and into the back of a carrier ship. If Mingyu is to be the one to dictate how steady his hands are around his weapon, then he will make them unshakeable. He looks at Kihyun and nods once; resolute.

Kihyun turns back to the window. “I trust you remember your way downstairs.”

“I’ll do my best, officer.”

“Good luck, Mingyu.”

“Ah. No such thing as luck.”

Kihyun’s mouth twitches at the corners. “Only hard work.”

Mingyu offers him a grin and a salute, and then he’s gone.

*

Seokmin doesn’t notice him at first. He’s completely absorbed in the repetitive action of notching and releasing his arrows, his face a steel mask of concentration now that the crowd has dissipated and there’s nobody to show off for. It makes his brows look heavier, the angle of his jaw sharper. The muscles in his forearm visibly clench and relax; the string above the nocking point presses against his cheek, the side of his long, pointed nose. 

Mingyu leans against a nearby pillar with his arms folded and catalogues every detail of his posture. He’s right handed. Solid on his feet. Despite the easy pull-back-release coming from his upper back, it seems that he carries most of his strength in his lower body. The red material of his uniform pulls tight around his thighs, his hips and his upper arms. 

Mingyu lets his eyes linger. 

In another context he’d be approaching Seokmin for a very different reason, telling him what he wanted to hear, making him smile wide enough that it takes up half his face the way it did when he saw people cheering for him; taking him home and taking him apart. 

Mingyu allows the thoughts to cross his mind. It’s better than shoving them down like explosives, folding his body over them until they detonate and cause even more damage. Besides, he’s allowed to find people attractive. It doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything about it. Despite what people say about him, Mingyu has good impulse control. Most of the time.

The arrows collect in bundles against the far wall. Only when there are too many in the same place, rendering it impossible to hit the centre, does Seokmin put his bow down and walk over to retrieve them.

“There’s tech for that, you know?” Mingyu calls out, pushing off the pillar. “Arrows that collapse into themselves, keep the target clear.”

Seokmin plucks the last arrow from the wall and spins it around, letting the middle balance perfectly on the tip of his index finger. “It’s more fun this way,” he says. When he finally looks over at Mingyu, his eyes drop noticeably to Mingyu’s feet and back up to his face. “Have we met?” he asks, walking back to the short line of tape on the floor. It’s a solid two metres behind the line used for training. Show off.

Mingyu grins. “We haven’t. But I’m a little hurt that you didn’t look me up before you arrived, considering we’ll be spending so much time together.”

Seokmin brow furrows as he takes in the blue of Mingyu’s uniform, and Mingyu watches the metaphorical lightbulb flicker on above his head, realisation bleeding into the shape of his mouth. “Oh!” He bows hastily. “Hi, I’m so—Hello. I’m Lee Seokmin.”

“I know,” Mingyu says, resisting the urge to laugh. “You’re my assignment for the next month. Some of us read our work orders.”

Seokmin rubs the back of his neck, smile turning sheepish. “Sorry. It’s been a hectic few days.”

Mingyu softens. He can’t imagine the pressure Seokmin is under. Well, he can, because they’ve both been tossed in the same boat with only a ticking time bomb for company—but he had the luxury of training amongst friends who all advanced alongside him, most of whom still work at his side to this day. Mingyu has always been a part of the collective; a player in the top team. He hasn’t had to contend with any kind of solitude ever since he left his parents in favour of a hopeful future amongst soldiers and the stars. 

Seokmin is in a new city with new people and some serious shoes to fill. Maybe Mingyu should be taking a different approach.

“At least tell me they put you in one of the nice rooms,” he says.

Seokmin brightens. “I’ve got a view of the landing zone.”

“What?” Mingyu gapes. “On the top floor? I’ve been bargaining for that room for almost three years!”

“Jeonghan-ssi said it was the only one available.”

“Jeonghan is a filthy liar,” Mingyu scoffs. Seokmin’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks around nervously. Mingyu waves him off. “We’re friends.”

Seokmin chokes. “You’re friends with _Yoon Jeonghan_?” He sounds starstruck.

“Don’t say his name like that where he can hear. If his head gets any bigger it won't fit in his helmet.”

“I thought he didn’t go on missions anymore,” Seokmin says, leading the way out of the building as though he’s the one who has been living here for four years and not three days. Mingyu follows him, humoured.

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“Ah, well,” Seokmin shrugs, bashful. “Did my research before I arrived.” He looks sideways at Mingyu with a smirk. “You’re one of the youngest graduates to rank up in almost a decade. Impressive.”

“So you _did_ look me up!”

Seokmin looks ahead and says nothing, but his smile grows.

*

The rest of the walk back to Building One passes quickly. The sky is cracked with clouds and the echo of jets in the distance; the air thickens more everyday with the anticipation of the upcoming Wave. Mingyu can almost feel it on his skin like needles, like humidity. He shakes it off and returns Seokmin’s smile when they meet eyes.

The person who designed their headquarters either had a sense of humour or a superiority complex, to make it look like a sun; the entire base is laid out around the oblong building like flares. It’s an impressive structure, some twenty storeys high and another ten reaching under the ground. Its south-facing surface glimmers like a mirror. When they send Minghao into the sky with three ships and a shaky new recruit, it will turn into a screen to project Commander Lee’s send-off speech. Mingyu will not be watching it. He’s technically not allowed in the take-off bay when he’s not cleared for the mission himself, but it hasn’t stopped him the last six times, and it won’t stop him this time.

Now that the sun has risen, the main pavilion is fluttering with people in crisp suits and uniforms coloured in gradients of the earth: yellow for healthcare, green for government, blue for military command. The red of Seokmin’s clothes stands out, a blaring symbol of his otherness, but it’s not the reason people part around them. 

Mingyu only likes his uniform for the effect it has on other people. Unfortunately, it’s not always the desired one; Seokmin is almost uncomfortably quiet. Mingyu could ask him how he feels about the mission, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to that already. “How’s your close range combat?” he asks instead.

“Not bad.”

“Your record says you were one of the best in your class, and Officer Yoo thinks you did well in the tests yesterday.”

Seokmin waves him off. “He’s just being nice.”

Mingyu cocks an eyebrow. “He openly insults people in training. If he says you’re good, that means you’re brilliant.”

Seokmin still doesn’t look like he believes him and Mingyu decides that he’s had enough. He steps in front of Seokmin, forcing him to a stop. People flow around them like ants. 

“Let me get one thing straight before we begin,” he says, voice low. “You were hand-picked for this mission, but that does not mean I’m going to go easy on you. I have people I care about going up in that ship.” He falters. Seokmin’s eyes flicker in understanding. Awful understanding. Mingyu pushes forward— “And their safety depends on us doing our jobs. So for the next three weeks, when I ask you how high you can jump, you show me, and you take pride in it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Seokmin says seriously. Mingyu looks back and forth between his eyes before straightening up. He didn’t even realise he had leaned in.

“Good.” He starts walking again. “Now, how do you feel about hand to hand combat?”

“Confident.”

Mingyu smiles. “Better.”

*

The training space on the ground level feels as familiar to Mingyu as his own body. Here, he carved a name for himself, amongst hundreds; he built trust and held it between his teeth like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He has bled and he has fallen and he has gotten back up again, all in this room. It’s wide enough to cast a running leap from one end to the other and the flooring is hard and unforgiving. Mingyu’s legs are forever a tapestry of bruises. But that’s how you learn. Hand to hand, staff to staff. In this room, he turns bodies into weapons, hardens them like shields.

Seokmin walks into the space like it’s holy, his heavy boots making a careful heel-to-toe movement with every step.

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, following him with his eyes.

“It’s amazing,” Seokmin says, spinning in a circle once he reaches the centre. He takes in the line up of equipment along the left wall, the mirrors along the right. The wall directly opposite the entrance is one large computer screen, locked to the default collage of weather reports, the time, outstanding work orders. There’s live footage of the secondary moon base camp playing in the top left corner; Mingyu makes a note to ask Junhui how his research is going.

“Well, I’m glad you like it, because you’re going to be seeing it five times a week for the next three weeks.” Seokmin raises his eyebrows. “Not my idea,” Mingyu adds, like that makes it any less gruelling. “Personally I would have had you in here two months ago, but I suppose the situation is... unprecedented.”

Seokmin nods and fiddles with the strap of his bag. “I was sorry to hear what happened to Soonyoung-ssi. How is he?”

“He’s… healing. Constantly trying to convince us that he’s ready to go back out, but he’s not much good to his crew with both legs broken and his lungs giving up every few hours. Which is why you’re here and my best friend is going in his place.” He doesn’t mean to sound as bitter as he does, but the words are out before he can stop them, petulant and bruised like old fruit.

“Sorry,” Seokmin says quietly. 

Mingyu closes his eyes and breathes out carefully. “No, that’s not on you. It’s not on anyone that’s just... how it is.” He huffs a laugh through his nose and adds, “It’s his duty.”

Seokmin hums. “And this is yours?” He gestures to the room and to himself.

Mingyu smiles lopsidedly. “Something like that.”

*

Their first session passes quickly. Seokmin is fast and his hits against the dummy are solid, accurate. Mingyu calls out stances as he walks a perimeter around him, watching his body move, watching his reflection. He’s mastered the basic training but he’s missing a lot of the nuance. Conviction. Experience. Three months out of the barracks truly isn’t enough, and it shows.

“You archery is your strongest point,” Mingyu says when they break for water. Seokmin opens his mouth to respond but, “That wasn’t a question. Your scores are high, and your foundation is strong, but we have work to do.”

“How much?” Seokmin asks, breathing heavily as he takes a long sip from his bottle. The column of his neck is shining with sweat; it runs in patches beneath his uniform, turning the dark red darker, clinging to his chest. Mingyu looks back at the touch screen and clears his throat.

“Enough that you might hate me after the first week.”

Seokmin laughs, eyes pushing into crescents, teeth shining in perfect rows. “I’d like to see that.”

*

It’s awkward, at first. It always is. Training someone like this is more personal than it appears from the outside—Mingyu has to learn how another person’s body works, how it moves and reacts, what its limits are and how to push past them. He has to find what isn’t working and fix it, like hauling engine parts from the spitting wreck of a ship and fitting it into a new model.

He pours his energy into someone else for hours at a time and watches them walk away when they’re done. 

Soonyoung once told him that he gives too much of himself to his work. Mingyu had outright laughed in his face. Almost everyone he met in the academy had given up their lives to be there; anyone who hadn’t never made it to graduation. It takes a special kind of sacrifice to aim for the stars. 

Seokmin comes to him every morning of the first week with bright determination, eager to improve and slow to complain. Mingyu sees a galaxy in his eyes. He wonders what Seokmin sees in his.

*

Seokmin stares at the electric-blue staff in Mingyu’s hand with a mix of awe and apprehension. 

“I thought we’d speed things up,” Mingyu says, flipping it around. The staff hums as it moves, leaves trails of blue in the air like dust. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do.”

“Ever used one?”

Seokmin shakes his head. “I thought it was illegal to use active equipment for training.” 

“Depends who you ask.” Mingyu spreads his bare feet on the mat and moves through two basic formations, careful to keep the active edges of the staff away from his skin; it’s turned down to its lowest setting, so the worst damage it will do is give him a static shock, but Seokmin doesn’t need to know that. “There are two types. This is a double: active on both ends, grip in the middle. The single is like a glorified baseball bat.”

“I think I’d prefer that,” Seokmin mutters.

Mingyu scoffs. “It’s a lazy weapon.” He surges through to a striking pose with his front knee bent and the staff pointing straight forward like an extension of his arm. “That’s what they give to security guards.”

Seokmin laughs. “Isn’t that essentially what I am?”

If it were anyone else, Mingyu would laugh along. _Yes_ , he’d say, _a bodyguard in a space suit._ But Seokmin isn’t joking. It’s clear in the way he folds his arms across his chest and shrugs through his words. And that won’t do.

Without warning, he tosses the staff. Seokmin catches it with a yelp.

“You’re a soldier,” he says firmly. He holds Seokmin’s gaze for several long seconds before Seokmin finally nods, chest expanding like Mingyu’s words have planted something inside of it.

“Good. Now—” Mingyu walks over to the control panel and brings the dynamic training dummy down from the ceiling. It drops into a defensive pose, its featureless face pointed at Seokmin. “Disarm and neutralise.”

Seokmin plants his feet, takes a breath, and strikes.

*

“Two Kings.”

“Bullshit.”

Soonyoung makes an exaggerated noise of defeat and takes the pile of cards. Mingyu wriggles happily in his seat. From the armchair on the other side of the bed, Minghao looks over his book and winks.

“Hey, whose side are you on?” Soonyoung asks him.

“I’m not playing,” Minghao says serenely, turning the page.

“Bullshit,” Soonyoung sings. Minghao pats his shin without taking his eyes off his book, but his cheeks push up with a smile.

The machine beside Mingyu beeps a little tune as it registers Soonyoung’s heart rate, relaying the information to the nurses down the hall. The last time they were playing cards over a bed in the medical ward, it was Minghao in the middle. At least Soonyoung’s room has a nicer view.

It’s cloudy today; unseasonably cold. Mingyu has training in an hour.

He has avoided the topic during his last two visits. As much as Soonyoung likes to act happy all the time, Mingyu knows how devastated he is to be taken off active duty. It certainly wasn’t without a fight—Hansol has started a tally in their group chat on the number of times he’s walked into Soonyoung’s ward to find him mid-escape attempt. So far they’re at seven. Mingyu estimates another three by the end of the month.

“What are you doing after this, Mingyu-yah?” Soonyoung chirps, fanning out his hefty hand of cards. Minghao makes eye contact over the bed, over the buried mess of Soonyoung’s healing bones, his too-pale skin. The air feels tighter, all of a sudden.

“Training,” Mingyu says quietly. He puts down a card. “One four.”

“With the new guy? Two fives.”

“Two sixes. Yeah. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Soonyoung frowns at the pile. “One seven.” His breath gusts between them; Minghao has stopped pretending to read. “Why not? I’m not as delicate as you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re delicate. Two eights.”

“Bullshit.” Mingyu takes the pile with a sigh. “Come on, I want to hear about it! I’m going crazy in here. Telling me about the sexy new recruit is the _least_ you can do.”

Mingyu chokes on his laughter and the tension dissipates. Or it was never there to begin with. Mingyu is still learning how to tell the difference, even amongst his oldest friends.

“Who told you he was sexy?” he asks.

“I’ve got eyes,” Soonyoung scoffs. Minghao clears his throat. “And they are only for one man,” Soonyoung adds hastily, fumbling to hold Minghao’s hand. Mingyu rolls his eyes at the smug look on Minghao’s face, but it’s fond; always.

“Well, Seokmin is…” Mingyu trails off. This is the first time he’s really thinking about it. Sure, he’s been writing progress reports at the end of every session, but those are clinical. _Base form is better. Will introduce new variables in our next session._ But that’s not what Soonyoung is asking. Soonyoung, the biggest dreamer out of them all, the embodiment of passion and pushing past breaking point to force growth, constantly approaching danger with a grin and dancing feet, is not asking about Seokmin’s form—he wants to know if his heart is in it.

Mingyu thinks about Seokmin staying behind when Mingyu taps out from tiredness. When he picks up his bow and arrow and straps up his wrist as the echoes of dinner float in from the mess hall. First to arrive and last to leave; hardworking to the point that Mingyu can feel himself pushing just to see if cracks will form. And they will. It’s only a matter of time. The take-off date is an anvil over both of their heads, and Mingyu feels like he’s the one holding onto the rope—if he loosens his grip for even a second, they’re both doomed.

But that’s not what Soonyoung is asking.

“He deserves to be here.”

Soonyoung nods, satisfied. “Good. Just don’t go falling in love with him.”

Mingyu splutters, cheeks flaming. “I won’t.” Minghao looks at him, ears perked, and Mingyu purposefully looks at his cards. What a strange idea. He wouldn’t—he’s just doing his job.

“Alright, alright,” Soonyoung laughs and slaps down three cards. “Three kings.”

“One ace,” Mingyu says, acting confident.

“Bullshit,” says Minghao, and flips it over to reveal a two.

*

Mingyu can’t stop thinking about what Soonyoung said. It feels like a parasite has taken up residence in his body. _Don’t go falling in love with him,_ said with a tone that implied Mingyu has probably already done so. It’s a fair assumption—Mingyu has had issues separating his emotions from his work in the past, pouring so much of himself into the other person and forgetting to take it back before they leave, but that isn’t happening here.

Seokmin doesn’t need that kind of distraction, anyway. They only have two and a half weeks left, and Mingyu is here to do his job.

That’s it.

“Good morning!” Seokmin chirps when Mingyu walks into the training room. He’s already stretching in front of the mirror, a smile on his face and a water bottle by his ankle.

“Hi,” Mingyu says. He sloughs off his distractions at the door and walks over to the touch screen. Seokmin’s file unfolds in tiers. Mingyu reads a note from the applied sciences department, dated today. “You already had an atmosphere test?”

“Yeah, before breakfast. Something about getting a reading on an empty stomach.”

“That’s just mean,” Mingyu says over his shoulder. Seokmin laughs, bright and loud, and oh— 

That feels different.

Mingyu swipes randomly, panicking. Footage from yesterday’s training starts playing and his brain forgets anything technical and focuses purely on the way Seokmin looks as he dances across the floor with the staff in his hands. A blazing trail of blue follows him like he has his own gravitational pull. His arms are steady and strong and the way he stretches forward draws focus to his waist, the width of his shoulders.

“How does it look?”

Seokmin appears at his side with his hands on his hips. He watches the footage loop and Mingyu watches his profile with increasing despair. “It looks good,” he says steadily.

“My knees aren’t bending enough,” Seokmin frowns.

“Oh you’re the expert now, are you?” Mingyu says, pulling Seokmin away from the ledge of his thoughts despite holding onto his own with one shaky hand. Seokmin smiles sheepishly and Mingyu softens. “If it’s bothering you, we’ll go back to it tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.” Seokmin bites his bottom lip. Mingyu looks back at the screen. “Thanks, Mingyu.”

Mingyu laughs through his nose. “Don’t have to thank me for doing my job.”

“Why not? You’re doing it really well.”

“Oh.” Mingyu blinks, surprised. His work is one of those things that he _knows_ he’s good at. His inner monologue is a consistent stream of praise for his own actions, like if he doesn’t hype himself up then nobody else will, but every time the words come from someone else’s mouth it renders him paralysed.

Seokmin grins, eyes sparkling. “You’re welcome,” he sings.

“Shut up,” Mingyu grumbles. “Give me forty push ups.”

“What?!”

“Fifty if you don’t drop right this second.”

Seokmin makes a show of getting onto the mat. Mingyu crosses his arms and counts out loud. His eyes make several languid journeys up and down Seokmin’s body while he does so, and the parasite in his belly jumps around, impatient.

*

Minghao drops by unannounced one afternoon and Seokmin almost trips in his haste to bow.

“Thank you, but you don’t need to do that.” Minghao steps forward and gently touches his shoulder, nudging him to stand straight.

“Of course. Sorry. Habit!”

Seokmin is _flustered_ , Mingyu notes almost sourly. His hair is also a mess, sticking to his forehead, and Mingyu reaches out to fix it. Seokmin tilts his head towards him like a sunflower, and it’s stupid, but it makes Mingyu feel better.

Minghao looks between them with curious eyes. He does it constantly—this carefully measured stare. Jeonghan used to call him _little owl_ because of how often he would sit quietly amongst them, hands folded and mouth tipped into a smile, saving his words until they were polished enough to shine. It used to intimidate Mingyu, until he learned that Minghao was only human like the rest of them and that his silence was his shield, just as Mingyu’s boisterous behaviour was his. It doesn’t stop him from feeling nervous to have Minghao here, watching how he works with Seokmin.

“Did you need something?” he asks airily, hand dropping from Seokmin’s hair.

“Just here to observe.” Minghao waves a graceful hand. “As you were.”

Seokmin flounders for something to do and Mingyu hands him his bow with a smile. “Show off a little,” he whispers, low enough that Minghao can’t hear. When he pulls back, he winks, and Seokmin’s fingers spasm on the grip just above his.

As expected, Seokmin fires ten perfect arrows.

This time, when he bows, it’s to the tune of Minghao’s enthusiastic clapping.

“He’s excellent,” Minghao says afterwards, Seokmin lingering out of earshot. He puts a warm palm on Mingyu’s shoulder and looks him in the eye. Mingyu wonders if he’ll ever shake the habit of acting older than all of his friends. “Don’t forget yourself. I need both of you to be okay for this mission to work.”

Mingyu nods. The words leave white spots behind his eyelids.

*

They’re at the end of the second week, and Seokmin is cracking.

Mingyu is giving him scenarios adapted from past Waves and evaluating how he reacts. _Does he strike before considering the risks? Does he value his team’s safety over his own?_ It would be easier in one of the virtual fields, where an army of holograms trick your mind into thinking the danger is real, but Mingyu wants to get a feel for Seokmin’s instincts first. He needs to find the pressure points before he can push down on them.

It starts off well, but after only two drills, Seokmin gets testy—all sharp edges and cut-off sentences. It’s happened once or twice before, but only ever towards the end of their sessions, when he’s too tired to be polite and Mingyu begins to mirror his energy for the petty satisfaction of it. Today feels different, though. Mingyu wonders if it has anything to do with the meeting Seokmin had with Control last night, if the reality of the situation is truly starting to set in.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he misses half of what Seokmin does in response to his instructions, but he certainly doesn’t miss the way Seokmin scoffs and mutters something under his breath afterwards.

It instantly turns Mingyu’s sympathy into irritation; a dangerous fire that licks at his ankles and dances up around his neck. He’s never been very good at controlling his temper. “I’m sorry, is something bothering you?” he asks, knife-sharp.

Seokmin, crouched down with his elbows on his knees, shakes his head. 

“What was that?”

“No,” Seokmin says. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t feel like nothing, Seokmin. Feels like you’re interrupting my training session.”

Seokmin looks up through his sweaty bangs with a sharp look. “Alright, since you asked. I feel like we’ve been doing the same thing since day one, and I’m never going to improve if all I do is…” He waves a hand. “ _Imagine_ what is happening. I can’t learn if I’m fighting a dummy or, or the _air._ How am I supposed to be ready if I can’t practise any of the things you’re teaching me?”

Mingyu laughs, but it feels acidic in his throat. “Okay. Alright.” He sets the tablet aside and starts to peel off his jacket, hands buzzing with energy. “Stand up, then.” 

This is the part where Minghao tells him to relax. Where Jeonghan rolls his eyes and calls him hot-headed. 

Seokmin doesn’t even hesitate. 

Mingyu rolls his neck, swings his arms and makes a come-hither motion with both hands. Seokmin mirrors his stance with a sharp grin, eyes darting around Mingyu’s body like a laser.

“What, no scenario?” He takes a step to the left when Mingyu does.

“Keep it below the neck,” Mingyu says, and lunges.

It would be a lie to say Mingyu hasn’t thought about this. It’s an intrusive thing—he sees a beautiful boy who knows how to fight and his brain starts to wonder what his hands would feel like around his throat.

And Seokmin has such beautiful hands.

He strikes at Mingyu with flat palms, fingers pressed together, slicing through the air like blades. Mingyu meets his grace with forced restraint. Their fighting styles give away their upbringing: Seokmin uses the striking flow favoured in the East and Mingyu fights like he’s glitching through every technique there is.

“You’re pulling your punches,” Seokmin huffs, ducking under Mingyu’s arm and trying to hit his ribs.

“I need you to be able to walk tomorrow,” Mingyu grins, cleanly blocking the hit.

Seokmin laughs into his next flow, driving Mingyu several feet back on the mat as he aims a side-kick at his stomach and follows it up with a heel swinging dangerously close to his chin. Mingyu yelps and Seokmin beams, all traces of animosity dripping away with their sweat.

Mingyu’s muscles are burning and his breath is a captured thing, but he loves it. He usually goes to Soonyoung to expel the energy that he can’t use training a new recruit, because Soonyoung doesn’t hold back and he chases hits like a dog chasing a car—but that hasn’t been an option for weeks and won’t be for weeks more. This is exhilarating, the dance of it, the muscle memory of flowing from hands to elbows to knees. He is never more aware of his body than when he is fighting, and Seokmin has visibly tilted into a different headspace too, jaw set, body moving like a weapon.

For the first minute, he’s formidable. Beautiful. Dangerous.

But then, the cracks.

Seokmin catches sight of himself in the mirror and sees something that makes him lose form. It’s less than a second, but it’s enough for Mingyu to sweep his feet out from under him, sending them both tumbling to the mat. Seokmin scrambles to get out of the way but Mingyu has the upper hand—even when Seokmin’s legs come up around his waist in a frantic attempt to trap him, Mingyu has enough leverage from his own lower body to get Seokmin’s forearms pinned.

Their laboured breathing echoes around the room.

“Happy now?” Mingyu asks, voice strained with the effort of keeping Seokmin pinned to the mat. Seokmin nods, eyes wide, chest heaving.

It takes a second for Mingyu’s brain to catch up to the position they’re in. His hipbones are pressing against the back of Seokmin’s thighs, their faces are stupidly close, and this is the most of Seokmin he’s ever touched at once. His forearms are solid beneath Mingyu’s fingers and he’s hot like a furnace, thighs caging Mingyu’s hips like—

Mingyu’s eyes, his traitorous eyes, drop down to Seokmin’s mouth. It’s only for a second, but they’re close enough that Seokmin definitely notices. Mingyu can hear the way he inhales, shaky and sharp, and it cracks Mingyu right down the middle.

He instantly lets go of Seokmin’s arms and rolls off him, willing his heart rate to slow down. He adamantly thinks about anything except the feeling of Seokmin’s body under his, the way his chin had tipped back half an inch, throat exposed, chest heaving.

The room feels cavernous around them for several long minutes.

Then—

“Mingyu.”

Seokmin’s voice is quiet—quieter than he’s ever heard. Mingyu turns his head to find him looking at the ceiling like he’s trying to find a pattern in the empty white of it.

“Yeah?”

Seokmin scrunches his eyes closed. “Tell me I can do this.”

Mingyu looks at him openly, at the cracks fissuring from his chest and the light that shines through them. He could break apart any moment and Mingyu would understand. But he won’t. Mingyu won’t let him. He taps Seokmin’s inner elbow with his fingertips.

“Look at me,” he says softly. Seokmin’s eyes are shining with unshed tears. Mingyu’s fingers tighten on the rope, steady enough for the both of them. “You can do this.”

Seokmin swallows hard, tears escaping. It’s unholy, for him to look so beautiful even while he’s crying. “Thank you,” he says thickly.

Mingyu smiles, shaky but honest. “You’re welcome.”

*

It takes a long time for Mingyu to fall asleep that night. He leaves the curtains open and sits in the lake of neon that pools around his bedsheets with his head in his hands and his body blooming with bruises.

The skies outside hum with stars, impossibly close and far away at the same time. Mingyu wonders if Seokmin will think of him when he’s flying through their constellations.

_Don’t go falling in love with him._

“Ugh,” Mingyu says into his palms. “Fuck.” 

*

“I hate you,” Seokmin heaves on all fours, one hand clutching his stomach.

Mingyu laughs, delighted. He flips the wooden staff around in one hand and pushes his hair out of his eyes with the other. “You’re the one who asked for more contact training.”

Seokmin collapses onto his back with a groan and starfishes on the mat. “Leave me here. I don’t think I can go on.”

“Dramatic,” Mingyu jabs.

“You winded me!” Seokmin shoots back.

“Because you didn’t block it in time!”

Seokmin groans again, tucking his legs into his chest and rocking side to side like a child. The difference between Seokmin today and Seokmin yesterday is enough to make Mingyu feel dizzy. He moves like his body weighs nothing at all. He’s quick to smile and quicker to follow Mingyu’s instructions, and god, he will not stop talking. Questions and jokes and commentary about their lessons and the visits he’s been making to the science department, the medical bay, how much he hates the breakfast but how incredible the dinner tastes.

Mingyu feels like he side-stepped into another dimension, but he likes it. A lot of his friends tire easily around him because of how many words he has to offer at once, but there’s no sense of that here. Seokmin’s enthusiasm is infectious. He’s also a lot easier to train now that they’re training _together_ —Mingyu does a better job instructing with his body and Seokmin seems to be responding better, too. He kicks himself for not breaking the no-contact rule sooner.

“Come on, up.” He taps Seokmin’s shoulder with the end of his staff. “Disarm me. You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Ten?!”

“Nine...”

Seokmin spurs into action, using momentum in his legs to flip out of the way when Mingyu brings his staff down in a perfect arc to slam against the mat. He jumps over the staff when Mingyu swipes at his ankles and sprints over to the equipment wall.

“Five,” Mingyu says, pursuing him.

“Four,” Seokmin responds, turning around with a bow and notching an arrow in the same second, pulling and releasing before Mingyu can say, “Three.” Before he can do anything—Seokmin fires a dummy arrow at Mingyu’s left hand and he drops the staff with a yelp of surprise.

“Two—” Seokmin flings the entire bow at the staff, sending both weapons out of Mingyu’s reach. “One. I win!”

“What was that?” Mingyu snaps at him, shaking out his left hand with a hiss.

Seokmin beams. “You said to disarm you. You didn’t say how.”

“What—obviously I meant with—what the hell, Seokmin, that equipment is expensive you can’t just _throw it_.”

“Did I hurt you?” Seokmin asks, approaching him with sudden worry in his eyes, looking at the way Mingyu is flexing his hand.

“No,” Mingyu says, taking a step back. “You just... caught me off guard.”

“Ah, that would be because I disarmed you,” Seokmin says, eyes twinkling. “As instructed.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I hate you, too.”

Seokmin laughs hard enough that he bends over with the force of it.

*

A gentle beeping at the door interrupts their cool-down session. Mingyu unfolds himself from the floor and jogs over to open it.

“Wonwoo hyung,” he says, surprised. This is only the second time this year that he’s seen Wonwoo above ground level. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wonwoo says, readjusting the bundle of wires in his arms. The movement causes his glasses to slip and Mingyu pushes them up the bridge of his nose for him. Wonwoo grins toothily. “Thanks. I’m here for Seokmin, actually. We have to do another pressure test. Control wants them done daily until he leaves to ensure his body is accustomed.”

Mingyu directs a sound of recognition at the machine hovering beside him. “Why here?” 

Wonwoo shrugs. “Orders. Also, Jun locked me out of the lab. Again.” He leans around Mingyu’s body and grins at Seokmin. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Seokmin smiles, but there’s a hint of nerves behind it. Mingyu understands. It’s an unpleasant thing, pulling the helmet on, being covered in nodes and wires like you’ve been caught by a jellyfish. The science is beyond him, but he remembers how it feels, and it's enough to flinch away when Wonwoo walks into the training room and the machine floats in behind him, one inch off the ground, air dispelling gently around the base.

Seokmin makes small talk as Wonwoo sets up—more comments about the weather and who he sat with at breakfast. Wonwoo hums in all the right places. They’ve only been meeting up twice a week and already Wonwoo seems more comfortable around Seokmin than most people he works with. It makes something warm and unnamed settle in Mingyu’s chest.

“Okay, almost ready,” Wonwoo says, making complicated patterns on the machine’s touchscreen that feed spasms of light along the cords connected to Seokmin’s pulse points. Seokmin nods. His spine is impossibly straight in the plastic chair and his right leg won’t stop jiggling.

Mingyu huffs a laugh through his nose and taps Seokmin’s knee. “Relax.”

“I’m trying,” Seokmin says, eyes closed. 

“Well, try harder.”

Seokmin laughs tightly, but his leg stills under Mingyu’s palm.

Wonwoo stands with the helmet poised over Seokmin’s head. “Ready?” he asks, and Seokmin nods. Wonwoo carefully lowers the helmet and the base seals around Seokmin’s neck with a slick noise. 

The helmet is a bowl shape and the face of it is transparent; Mingyu can see how hard Seokmin’s eyes are scrunched shut. The machine lights up green. “Vitals are steady,” Wonwoo says. “We’re going to start off with a higher level this time, okay?” Seokmin jerks his head. “Remember to breathe, Seokmin. Here we go. Three, two… one.” 

The machine lights up blue and Seokmin’s helmet floods with mist: air manufactured to replicate the feeling of descending from a ship into the atmosphere of a foreign planet. He’ll have an oxygen tank feeding him the entire time he’s on the ground, but his body needs more than that. It needs to understand the difference between the air it grew up breathing and the air it’s being trained to withstand.

Wonwoo keeps his eyes on the machine; Mingyu keeps his eyes on Seokmin. 

He still looks uncomfortable, but his chest is rising and falling at a steady rate the way he does when he’s working through an uncomfortable stretch. Mingyu has never seen the test happen from the outside. It’s disquieting. His own heart rate rises with the memory of being the one in the chair.

“Level four,” Wonwoo mutters. He pushes a slider up two notches. The wires pulse like they’re taking something from Seokmin and the machine gurgles, fed. 

The first few seconds are okay, but the muscles in Seokmin’s forearms begin to jump and Mingyu sees his eyebrows draw together in panic. The machine flashes a warning for his heart rate. 

“Breathe, Seokmin,” Wonwoo urges. “You’re safe. It’s just a simulation.”

It doesn’t work. Seokmin’s leg is jumping again and his face is twitching like he’s trying to get away from the very air he’s breathing. The beeping from the machine gets louder and louder and Mingyu doesn’t think—he grabs the hand closest to him and clings. Seokmin’s fingers clamp around his instantly, like it’s what he was searching for the whole time. His grip is painfully tight, but Mingyu allows it. He lets Seokmin use him to become grounded, to step back from whatever ledge he was about to topple over. 

“Vitals are… steadying,” Wonwoo says, surprised. His eyes leave the machine for the first time only to find the collision of Mingyu and Seokmin’s hands atop Seokmin’s thigh. He raises his eyebrows at Mingyu and says, “Level five?”

Seokmin nods.

“Level five,” Wonwoo repeats. Seokmin flinches when the pressure intensifies, but he doesn’t freak out like he did before. 

The test lasts three more minutes. Mingyu spends every second cataloguing the feeling of Seokmin’s hand in his.

*

The living quarters are a carpet-muted maze. A lot of people work on shift-rotation, and midnight doesn’t mean what it used to; Mingyu passes several people in uniform and someone who could be sleepwalking in a set of silk pyjamas. A few of them offer him a friendly wave or a smile that he returns. As much as he enjoys intensive jobs, the one-on-one, he misses the noise and activity of general duties.

For some reason he waits until the corridor is empty before stepping into the elevator, and he relaxes when he finds there is no-one inside.

He blinks twice. The doors open to the top floor. He turns left and gets halfway down the corridor before he slows, doubt creeping in. Seokmin is probably asleep. This was a stupid idea. He starts to turn around, but then he remembers how shaken Seokmin had looked when they separated for the day, eyes downcast and words coming less frequently, as though he was reverting back into the fears he had worked so hard to leave behind.

Mingyu sighs. He looks between the elevator and the door at the end of the hallway, and makes his choice.

The door slides open with a soft sound and Mingyu is presented with Seokmin smelling like body wash, wearing shorts and a loose shirt. 

“Mingyu. Hi.” He looks soft and effortlessly attractive, cheeks dewy and hair pushed back like he had a shower not too long ago. Mingyu is so used to seeing him in uniform or training gear that he never stopped to consider how devastating Seokmin would look in a simple white t-shirt. Maybe this was the wrong decision.

“Hey. I, um.” He clears his throat. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

Seokmin fusses with his hair and smiles, small but genuine. “You could have sent me a message.”

“Yeah.” Mingyu shakes his head. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll let you sleep—you’re probably exhausted.” He turns to leave with an awkward half-wave and warm cheeks, but Seokmin reaches out and wraps long fingers around his wrist, stopping him. His palm is calloused and warm. Mingyu looks at his hand, then his face, eyebrow raised in question.

Seokmin tilts his head. “Do you drink?”

There’s a small couch facing the floor-to-ceiling window, and they each take a side. The moons spill yellowing light over their feet as Seokmin pours two glasses of purple liquid and hands one to Mingyu.

“Cheers.” 

Mingyu clinks their glasses together and takes a small sip. Seokmin clears his glass in one go. “Wow,” Mingyu says, brows high.

Seokmin hisses and sucks his teeth. “I hate the taste.”

“Then why drink it?”

“Helps me sleep when I’m all—” Seokmin waves the empty glass around his head.

“Is that because of today?” Mingyu asks, turning his own glass between his palms. He looks out the window after he asks it, if only to give Seokmin the illusion of space. He sees Seokmin’s shoulders rise and fall out of the corner of his eye.

“Today. Tomorrow. Next week.” Seokmin pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them close. “I thought I was doing better. I woke up feeling so good this morning…” He exhales, frustrated. Mingyu gives him a sympathetic smile and pats his leg, and Seokmin’s hand darts out to grab it before he can pull it back.

He traces the pads of his fingers over Mingyu’s palm; Mingyu’s fingers twitch inwards and Seokmin looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Ticklish?” he asks, eyes bright.

“No,” Mingyu lies.

“Hm,” Seokmin hums like he’s saving something for later. “You sure I didn't hurt you earlier?”

Mingyu snorts. “I'm sure.”

“Alright,” Seokmin concedes, giving Mingyu his hand back. Then, quieter, “Can I ask you something?” Mingyu hums. “Why don’t you go on missions?”

“Oh, um.” Mingyu finishes his own drink in one go. Seokmin laughs quietly into the space between them. “The reason isn’t very interesting.”

“I still want to hear it. If that’s—if you want to share it.”

“It’s not a secret or anything. I’m just not built to leave this planet, I guess.” Mingyu shrugs one shoulder. “My body reacts negatively to other atmospheres. I’m okay in the ship, but only for a few hours—a day at most—and then my oxygen levels just…” He spreads his hand out and mimes something splattering. “They don’t know why, exactly, but I’m not allowed to fly because of it. It’s been almost two years.”

(It’s been six hundred and seventy-two days.)

Seokmin looks devastated. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.”

“Pretty awful, I mean my hands went all numb and my stomach was—”

“No, no,” Seokmin interrupts gently, “I mean spending so long working towards something and then not being able to do it. That sounds really difficult.”

“It…” Mingyu drifts off, searching for the words in his glass. He looks at the moons. At his feet. At Seokmin. “Yeah. It is.”

One of Seokmin’s feet nudges gently at his thigh. “If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you’re stuck here.”

“Yeah?” Mingyu grins with his tongue between his teeth. 

Seokmin’s eyes draw to the movement like magnets. It’s only for a second but it feels far longer, and it sends Mingyu’s heart rate soaring. “Yeah,” Seokmin nods, eyes on his hands. “I don’t think I’d be ready to go up without you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Mingyu grins even wider and it earns him a real kick to his thigh. He makes a fake sound of hurt and grabs Seokmin’s ankle when he tries it a second time, tugging hard enough for Seokmin’s body to dislodge a few inches down the cushions.

“Yah,” Seokmin admonishes, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re _too_ confident?”

Mingyu hums, eyes lidded. “It’s not usually a bad thing.”

For the first time since they’ve met, Seokmin stills completely. One of his feet is on the carpet and the other is in Mingyu’s lap, and Mingyu’s thumb is rubbing absent lines over his ankle bone.

They’ve been spending almost every day together, and it’s Mingyu’s job to understand Seokmin’s body, but this is new: Seokmin’s ribcage expands under the excess of his shirt and his eyes darken, tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip. The position he’s in makes his left thigh flare out on the couch, shorts riding up to show more skin that Mingyu has seen from him, and he hates that it makes him blush, hates even more how easily he could use his free hand to dig into the muscle, to push his fingers beneath the hem and watch how Seokmin would react.

Perhaps the worst part is that Seokmin looks like he’d let him do it.

Which is exactly why Mingyu lets go.

Seokmin blinks back to himself and sits up, one hand rushing through his hair and the other reaching for the alcohol. “Want another one?” he asks, voice rough.

“No, thank you.” Mingyu doesn’t want to give himself a single excuse to act stupid. He came here to make sure Seokmin was okay after a stressful day, not to fuck him into the couch. Shit, now he’s thinking about it. He looks out the window and frantically counts every star he can see while Seokmin refills his glass.

He drinks it slowly this time and Mingyu laughs at the face he makes after every sip. They count shooting stars for a while and Seokmin tells Mingyu about the constellations he can see at home that he can’t see here. He sounds almost wistful, and maybe that’s what prompts Mingyu to say it.

“It’s not just about the others.”

Seokmin looks at him, surprised, and Mingyu wishes he could keep his heart out of everything, but that just isn’t who he is.

“When I said that I have people I care about going up in that ship… that includes you. You know that, right?”

Seokmin’s mouth opens and closes once. He’s looking at Mingyu the way he looks at the stars, like Mingyu is worth taking a risk to discover. It makes him breathless.

“I… do now,” Seokmin says slowly.

“Good,” Mingyu nods; a jerk of his head. “And it’s not just me. We’re all rooting for you.”

“Even Soonyoung?” Seokmin jokes.

“ _Especially_ Soonyoung.”

Seokmin smiles, chin tucked towards his chest. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he swallows it, and Mingyu isn’t brave enough to ask what it was. He begs off soon after with the excuse of feeling tired, despite wanting to stay on the couch for as long as Seokmin would allow. He takes a long time to get up and lingers in the doorway. Seokmin follows him quietly.

“Thanks for checking on me.”

Mingyu shuffles between his feet. “Of course. It’s my—”

“Your job, I know.” Seokmin’s eyes dance around Mingyu’s face for a second before he laughs quietly to himself, shaking his head.

“What?” whines Mingyu.

“Nothing, nothing.” Seokmin shoos a hand at him. “Go. Get some sleep.”

“ _You_ get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

The door slides shut between them and Mingyu takes an embarrassingly long time to walk back to the elevator.

*

Several people to frown at Mingyu when he enters the Strategy room and he holds up an apologetic hand, feeling very much like he’s back in the academy, stumbling into his morning biochemistry lesson ten minutes after it started. He catches Seokmin’s eye from the opposite side of the room where the rest of the crew is sitting, and he offers him a quick smile of reassurance before hurrying to find an empty spot.

Jeonghan watches him navigate his way to the back like he isn’t six foot two, and smirks. “You’re so predictable,” he says quietly, standing against the wall with his arms crossed, not listening to a word Seungcheol is saying. “Did you get lost?”

“Woke up late,” Mingyu mutters. “Why are _you_ here?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “I was bored.”

There isn’t a large group in attendance at the briefing; a standard Wave requires six soldiers, four pilots, a navigator, a medic, and someone to tell them all what to do. The other men and women are either from Control or will be working from the ground, and Mingyu is here for moral support more than anything else. He doesn’t particularly like hearing the details of the missions. Waves are advertised to the public as peacekeeping operations, a means of collecting scientific and sociological data on other planets, and they are, but the public doesn’t hear about the hostile inhabitants, or the details of the peace keeping. At least this time they’re targeting a less populated planet.

Seungcheol finishes the introduction and steps aside to give Minghao the floor.

Minghao moves into the centre with a polite bow. His hair has been cropped enough to make his ears stick out and his tall, thin frame cuts a beautiful silhouette through the holograms dancing across the table in the centre of the room. His voice is soft but it carries easily to Mingyu, who feels a swell of pride watching his friend move so seamlessly through the mission plan. It’s not his first time, but it’s still a lot of work. Soonyoung makes it look so easy, but then again, Soonyoung has the energy of three suns and a chemical reactor.

As Minghao explains the landing demonstration playing out on the table, Mingyu’s eyes drift, and he catches Seokmin looking at him. Under the blue lights and the shadows, his features look sharper than usual and he’s dressed as formally as the rest of the room—collar pressing against this throat and shoulders squared to perfection.

Seokmin’s eyes travel up from Mingyu’s body to meet his gaze, and he looks away before Mingyu can even raise an eyebrow.

This happens three more times.

Catch and release.

Mingyu can’t stop; Seokmin is all magnets and beautiful cheekbones and a demeanour befitting of his rank. Nothing like the man crying on the training room floor or the one looking at Mingyu under moonlight and a glass and a half of alcohol. Except he is. He is all of those things. He’s a perfect shot and a cloud of anxiety and a sunrise over cresting waves. Strong because he is vulnerable; vulnerable because he is strong.

This time, when Seokmin looks over, Mingyu holds his gaze.

He cocks an eyebrow, dares Seokmin to break first like this, too, is another challenge to overcome. Or maybe Mingyu just wants to know he’s not the only one with the hammering heart and clammy palms over a few seconds of eye contact. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since their conversation in Seokmin’s room and it feels… different. Mingyu doesn’t think he’s imagining the change.

Seokmin holds his gaze almost stubbornly and Mingyu smiles with the tip of his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek, over his bottom teeth, because he knows how it looks, and—it works. Seokmin’s eyes drop to his mouth and immediately back to the front.

Jeonghan exhales loudly and Mingyu almost jumps out of his skin in fright. “You’re not hard, are you?” he whispers.

Mingyu stifles a yelp. “No, what the hell?”

“Fact check!” Jeonghan hisses, making a grab for the front of his pants and giggling when Mingyu blocks him. Someone shushes them and Jeonghan puts a hand on his chest with a noise of affront. He gives it a few seconds, then asks, “How long has _that_ been going on?” with his head tilted towards the left side of the room.

“Nothing is going on,” Mingyu says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

Jeonghan eats up the lie like it makes him stronger. “I know I call you stupid a lot, but I don’t usually mean it,” he says. “However, if you don’t break that no-relationship rule in the next twenty four hours, you’re stupid, and I will tell everyone that you gave me an STD last summer.”

Mingyu gasps. “I did not!”

“And who will they believe?” Jeonghan simpers.

“Fuck you.”

“Another time.” Jeonghan pats his bicep. “Have fun. Tell me about it afterwards.” He saunters off to talk to Seungcheol. Mingyu hadn’t even realised the briefing was over.

He finds Minghao amongst his superiors and offers them all bows that are accepted with stiff nods. Minghao politely excuses himself.

“Hey,” Mingyu says once they’re more or less alone. “You did great.”

“Yeah? I was really nervous.” Minghao shakes his hands out like he was physically holding his stress. Some of the rigidness falls from his shoulders and he smiles hopefully at Mingyu. “I think it’s going to go well.”

“It will. I never doubted it for a second.”

“Okay,” Minghao drawls, rolling his eyes but smiling all the while. His expression turns considering. “Seokmin told me he was going to the training room. I thought you both had the day off?”

Mingyu’s heartbeat begin to rattle his body like debris against the hull of a ship. “Uh, we do. Maybe he has a question. About something.”

“Oh Mingyu, you really are a terrible liar,” Minghao says lovingly. He taps Mingyu under the chin and says, “Don’t tell me anything I shouldn’t know.”

Mingyu grins and says, “Yes, commander.” He salutes and clicks his heels together, but he can’t hold it very long—they are both giggling too much for it to stick. Minghao all but pushes him out of the Strategy room and Jeonghan winks at him on his way out, and then Mingyu is alone in his choices, and he chooses to walk unnecessarily fast in the direction of the stairs.

*

Seokmin is pacing back and forth in front of the mirrored wall, thumbnail caught between his teeth. His head jerks up when Mingyu walks in and he smiles and rakes his fingers through his hair.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Mingyu says, oddly giddy. He doesn’t know what it is, but it feels different to be alone together, like somewhere between the seventh and third floor he found a name for the fire in his chest and realised it might not be so bad if Seokmin knew about it. Like it means something that they’re seeking each other out, even when they have the freedom to be anywhere else.

“I was—”

“Do you—”

They both break off in laughter. Mingyu flaps his hands and says, “You go.”

“Right,” Seokmin clears his throat. “I um, I know we don’t have a session today but I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Anything,” Mingyu says, taking a step towards him.

“You’re not busy?”

Mingyu bows dramatically. “I’m at your service.”

 _Something_ turns out to be a defence formation they phased through in the very first week. Mingyu remembers, because he had specifically made a note about how quickly Seokmin picked it up, which is why they never revisited it.

Seokmin pulls off the jacket of his uniform to reveal a fitting white shirt tucked in at the waist, and Mingyu’s heart bangs against his chest like it’s trying to escape.

“I think my stance is wrong. So it’s—” He steps towards Mingyu with his right foot and Mingyu acts like he’s throwing a hit, slowed down for the sake of the flow. “And then—” He tries to grab the outside of Mingyu’s shoulder to spin into the next part, but his footing isn’t stable enough, and Mingyu easily tugs him off balance towards his own body. “Okay,” Seokmin breathes, inches from Mingyu’s face. “Not that?”

“Not that,” Mingyu says. He’s close enough to smell Seokmin’s cologne, to count his eyelashes. They separate. Two steps back.

Seokmin tries it with his left foot this time and Mingyu clips him on the back of the knee and catches him by the back of the neck before he can hit the mat. It’s almost as though they were dancing.

“Not that either,” he says, grinning down at Seokmin for a second before righting them once more. There’s a pretty flush building along Seokmin’s cheekbones and his eyes are restless, moving all over Mingyu’s face, his torso, the room.

“How about this?” He moves into an offensive formation that Mingyu recognises and side-steps in the same moment. It’s too easy to get Seokmin on his back. Mingyu hovers over him, forearm resting against his throat—enough to feel him swallow but not enough to restrict his breathing. Seokmin’s hand comes up to grip above his elbow, fingers pressing into his upper arm. Almost as though he’s trying to hold Mingyu there.

Mingyu looks back and forth between his eyes and says, “This wasn’t about the training, was it?”

“Not for a second,” Seokmin says to Mingyu’s mouth. After a few quick breaths that Mingyu feels across his chin, he moves as if to sit up, to bring their faces even closer together, but Mingyu pushes him back down with the forearm across his throat. Seokmin’s eyes flash and his mouth drops open on a gasp.

“Shit,” Mingyu breathes, gut clenching into knots, “We can’t—not here. There are cameras. And anyone could come in.” Seokmin makes a considering face and Mingyu chokes on a disbelieving laugh. “Seokmin. No.” He rocks back on his heels and stands up. Seokmin pouts up at him, but he can’t hold it for too long; his smile always seems to win out. Mingyu wants to run his tongue along the shape of it.

He takes a steadying breath and holds out a hand.

Seokmin takes it.

*

Silence follows them up ten floors and down three hallways. It stretches between them like bow strings. Mingyu keeps expecting Seokmin to turn around and tell him that he doesn’t want this, that Mingyu should go back to his own room—but it doesn’t happen, and suddenly they’re walking over the threshold of Seokmin’s dorm, and they are alone. They don’t even have the luxury of hiding from each other in the dark because Seokmin has his lights set to turn on as soon as he walks inside, delicate downlights dripping down the walls.

Mingyu takes off his shoes and trips over his words. “Hey, um, I don’t want you to think I’m just—this isn’t—”

Seokmin shushes him gently and fists the front of his shirt to pull him closer.

_He’s prone to hesitating. He lacks conviction._

He kisses Mingyu first.

Mingyu instantly brings his hands up to frame Seokmin’s jaw, the perfect angle of it, the column of his throat that has been stretched out before him for weeks like a platter to be devoured. He kisses Seokmin back almost frantically, smearing his mouth from his lips to his chin to his Adam’s apple, chasing every sound that falls out of his mouth.

Mingyu hasn’t felt need like this for someone else in a long time, if ever. It’s like nothing is enough. He needs to be closer. “I need—” He chokes out a moan when Seokmin’s teeth pull down on his earlobe.

“What, Mingyu?” Seokmin breathes into his ear, sounding just as shattered. Mingyu seeks out his mouth and whines into it, distracted by the shape of Seokmin’s teeth under his tongue.

“Take this off.” He starts tugging at the buttons of Seokmin’s uniform before the words are even finished coming out of his mouth. They have to separate to get their shirts shucked onto the carpet, and Mingyu tries to dive right back in once the material hits the floor, but Seokmin stops him with a hand to his chest.

“Not yet—I wanna look at you.” His hand moves down Mingyu’s stomach, fingers making piano keys of his ribs, his thumb tracing the underside of his right pec.

“For how long?” Mingyu asks cheekily, trying to pretend he’s not just as picked apart by the sight of Seokmin, half naked, pants undone but still hanging off his hips. The lights paint his skin like summer; he has a mole on his shoulder, his sternum, his waist; constellations. If Mingyu had a greater imagination he could picture them by the coast, Seokmin’s hair swept beautiful by the wind and his skin tasting like salt. But this is better. This, here, because this is happening. This is real. Mingyu feels dizzy. Seokmin’s eyes move away from his body and back to his face, and Mingyu gets both of his hands on Seokmin’s waist and _grips._

Seokmin exhales like the movement punched his lungs empty. His eyebrows pinch together, rowboats meeting in the middle, and they both lean in to kiss each other at the same time. It’s clumsy and desperate and it takes them to the edge of the bed and sprawling down onto the covers, which are still undone.

Mingyu breaks the kiss to say, “Your room is so messy.”

“You’re thinking about that _now_?” Seokmin giggles, shuffling back to the headboard and tugging Mingyu in by the belt-loops, encouraging him onto his lap. Mingyu steadies himself with a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder and one on the wall. Seokmin tilts his chin up to kiss him, humming when Mingyu cradles the back of his head to bring them closer.

They kiss each other with bruising mouths and busy hands; Mingyu starts rocking back and forth in Seokmin’s lap, guided by the hand on his ass, fingers digging into the muscle, biting back noises before they can embarrass him. It doesn’t take long for him to get hard, and he can feel Seokmin against the back of his thigh, but they still have their pants on. Somehow.

Seokmin forces their movements to slow and says, “Can I—”

“Yes,” Mingyu cuts him off.

Seokmin slaps his ass in admonishment and grins sharply when it makes Mingyu’s breath stutter. “That’s interesting.”

“No it’s not,” Mingyu volleys. “Ask your question.”

“Can I fuck you?”

Mingyu’s stomach clenches almost painfully. He pulls Seokmin in with the fingers in his hair and kisses him hard, forces his tongue in between his swollen lips. Seokmin’s hands cling to his sides and he kisses back as best as he can before Mingyu finally relents, leaving him panting, eyelids heavy. “Is that a yes?” he asks, licking his lips absently.

“What do you think, you idiot,” Mingyu says, kissing him like a punctation mark and getting out of his lap.

Seokmin relinquishes some of the control he had demanded in the doorway and Mingyu takes it gladly. He repositions them until they’re laying flat on the mattress, Seokmin on his back and Mingyu between his legs, peeling his pants off with none of the finesse he was hoping for. Seokmin laughs when the material gets caught on his ankle and Mingyu tosses it over his shoulder to join the rest of the debris on the carpet. He presses his thumbs into the inside of Seokmin’s knees, encouraging his legs to bend up and apart.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he says reverently. Seokmin’s legs twitch like he’s trying to close them, but Mingyu holds them open. “Don’t.” He kisses the soft skin on the inside of Seokmin’s thigh. “I wanna see you.”

He peels Seokmin’s underwear off and tosses it over his other shoulder for balance. Seokmin is as beautiful as ever, naked and spread out on the sheets, looking at Mingyu like he trusts him. Mingyu looks back. He drags his palms up the inside of Seokmin’s thighs, kneading the muscle and delighting in the way it makes Seokmin’s stomach twitch.

He kisses and licks his way up Seokmin’s torso and reaches his mouth with a series of long, open mouthed pecks that sound cacophonous in the quiet. “Beautiful,” he says against Seokmin’s cheek, into his ear. Seokmin makes a desperate noise and turns his head to kiss him.

Their noses knock together, and it’s a ridiculous reason to fall in love with someone, but Mingyu has never been much of a realist anyway.

When he tries to go down on Seokmin, mouth pooling with saliva, he’s stopped with a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at Seokmin through his lashes, confused. “You don’t want me to?”

“I do. I do, trust me.” Seokmin traces the shell of Mingyu’s ear and sits up. Mingyu loves how the position softens his stomach. “It’s just that… You’re always looking after me. Let me take care of you for once. Please?”

If it were anyone else, Mingyu would doubt his intentions. _There’s nobody to show off for_ , he’d think. _You don’t have to convince me you’re a good person, we’re just here to have sex._ But Seokmin just… is. There’s such earnestness in his eyes, in the way his thumb rubs a gentle line across Mingyu’s cheekbone, and Mingyu believes him.

He holds eye contact as he presses a kiss to Seokmin’s palm and nods.

Maybe Mingyu lacks foresight, if he thought that being taken care of would mean something overly gentle and slow, face to face, back on the mattress.

Or maybe Seokmin is just full of surprises.

“Fuck—there,” Mingyu whines, pressing back against Seokmin’s mouth, the two long fingers he has buried inside him. Seokmin hums and crooks his fingers again, sending shockwaves down Mingyu’s thighs. Holding the position proves difficult after a few minutes and Mingyu presses his chest into the mattress instead, keeping his hips up as best he can while Seokmin fucks him fast and steady with his mouth.

Seokmin pushes a third finger in and Mingyu whimpers into the crook of his elbow.

“Good?” Seokmin asks.

“Yeah,” Mingyu moans, voice cracking up another octave when Seokmin scissors his fingers. He started off keeping his sounds to himself, out of habit or uncertainty about what Seokmin would like, but Seokmin would have none of it.

“You sound so good, Mingyu-yah,” he said, kissing a path up Mingyu’s spine, “Let me hear how I’m making you feel.”

Mingyu doesn’t need telling twice. He fucks himself back on Seokmin’s tongue when it pushes past his rim and pants out a river of curses in between iterations of Seokmin’s name. It only spurs Seokmin on—he eats Mingyu out like he doesn’t want to do anything else, ever again, and it feels incredible. “Seokmin, Seok— _ah shit_.” He grips the sheets and squirms when Seokmin reaches around to get a hand on his cock, fingers wrapping easily around him. Mingyu is so overworked already that he almost comes form the touch alone. “Seokmin, fuck me now. Now.”

“Now?” Seokmin says, teasing. Mingyu whines desperately and Seokmin laughs against his lower back. “Okay, okay. Get on your side.” Mingyu moves towards the right, but Seokmin stops him with a firm hand on his hip. “Other side.”

“Does it make a difference?” Mingyu laughs. He wriggles onto his left side and his breath catches in his throat. The black-out shutters are pulled over the outside of the windows but the curtains are drawn, which means Mingyu can see himself in the floor-to-ceiling glass. It’s not as clear as a mirror but it’s clear enough to see his body, his face, Seokmin moving around behind him, getting himself a glass of water and a condom. Mingyu watches with a hammering heart, feeling and seeing the mattress dip when Seokmin gets back onto the bed, when he leans down to kiss the cap of his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” he asks against Mingyu’s neck.

Mingyu turns his face to kiss him and says, “Yeah. Yeah it’s okay.” Seokmin’s face smooths out again, and he kisses Mingyu harshly before sliding down onto his side, fingers dragging down Mingyu’s waist, his hip, the back of his thigh. He gets a grip on the muscle and pushes Mingyu’s thigh towards his stomach, just enough to position himself properly. He lets go of Mingyu’s leg to guide the tip of his cock to Mingyu’s rim, and then his fingers are back on the meat of Mingyu’s thigh, holding him open as he fucks inside, inch by inch.

Mingyu watches all of it in the window.

At first, Seokmin keeps his eyes trained down on where he’s fucking into Mingyu, eyebrows pulling together in pleasure, mouth loosing gorgeous sounds against the overheated skin of Mingyu’s back—and he’s hardly even making sense, babbling about how good Mingyu feels, how he could do this for hours.

Then, finally, he looks up.

He makes eye contact with Mingyu in their reflection and fucks his hips forward so quickly that it snatches Mingyu’s breath. “Shit,” he moans, and just like that, the slow and steady moment is over.

Seokmin fucks him perfectly. The desperation from earlier has caught up to them again, but it’s buried in syrup now, turning their movements languid. Mingyu groans low in his chest when Seokmin buries himself to the hilt and grinds his hips, the hand that was on Mingyu’s thigh moving to jerk him off, wet from the slide of their skin and the mess between their legs. He reaches back to hold Seokmin close by the nape of his neck, and Seokmin goes so willingly, leaning over Mingyu as best he can to get his mouth on his ear, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

“Feel so good, Mingyu-yah,” he pants, fucking his hips in tight thrusts, the sound of their skin slapping together lewd and wonderful in the quiet room, “Being so good for me.”

Mingyu keens and tries to curl into himself, but Seokmin’s other hand moves between his neck and the pillow and his fingers press against the front of Mingyu’s throat, pushing his chin up to force eye contact in the window’s reflection.

“Watch,” he says into Mingyu’s ear, and Mingyu lasts mere seconds with Seokmin’s hand on his throat and Seokmin’s body making territory of his own before he’s coming, shuddering with his mouth held open in a soundless shout, watching himself; watching them.

“Oh my god,” Seokmin says, voice rough, hips stuttering at the feeling of Mingyu clenching around him.

“You can—” Mingyu reaches back and encourages Seokmin with a hand on his ass, holding it there to feel the muscle clench as Seokmin tries and fails himself to stop thrusting.

“You sure?” He asks, even as he picks up his pace once more. Mingyu says, “Yes” even though he’s oversensitive, because he wants to feel it. He wants his body to be Seokmin’s just as Seokmin’s was his—under orders, on paper, in this bed.

It doesn’t take long. Seokmin gets so lost in it that Mingyu ends up more on his stomach than his side, pressed into the mattress with Seokmin’s body pressed all along his back and his mouth against his ear. “I’m close,” he pants, like Mingyu can’t feel it. He frantically seeks Mingyu’s hand amongst the sheets and presses down on it, threading their fingers together and burying himself to the hilt before coming with a long, shattered groan, lips against the nape of Mingyu’s neck like a brand.

*

“ _My stance is all wrong_ —really?”

Seokmin laughs, loud and embarrassed, and pulls the covers up to his chin. “I don’t know! I wasn’t sure you liked me that way. I wanted to be sure.”

Mingyu turns on his side to give him an incredulous look. “Seokmin. I’ve been holding myself back since the day I met you.”

Seokmin blinks at him, eyes shining in the dim light. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Don’t sound so surprised. I can give you a list of names right now of all the people on base who think you’re the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen.”

There’s a long moment of quiet as Seokmin buries his face into his pillow. His voice is muffled when he says, “And you?”

“Me?”

Seokmin emerges from the pillow. “Are you on that list?”

Mingyu hums and traces the backs of his knuckles over Seokmin’s cheek, pretending to consider the question. “I guess,” he sighs, like it’s some great burden, and it earns him a shriek of laughter and a pillow to the face.

*

Less than an hours’ walk from the base is a low rise covered in tall grass. A sprawling field of it, unkept, stretching out beside the road that leads back to the city proper. Mingyu found it when he first arrived on base, fresh out of the academy and looking for something familiar. He didn’t grow up in the country, but something about the tangle of soil and fingers of grass reaching skyward and swaying in the breeze made him feel peaceful. If you walk far enough into it, you can get a good view of the northern hangar, over the fence.

Mingyu takes Seokmin there the day before take-off. He turned up at his room before sunrise and rang the doorbell until Seokmin opened it almost violently, looking grumpy and, unfortunately, cute.

“Mingyu?” he asked, rubbing his eye. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“I wanna show you something. Get dressed.”

Seokmin had simply nodded and moved back inside. When he dropped his clothes within Mingyu’s line of sight, Mingyu almost looked away before he remembered he was allowed to stare, now.

“That’s a good omen,” Seokmin says, pointing at the clear sky as they leave the demarcated boundary of the base.

“You believe in that stuff?”

Seokmin shrugs. “I believe in things that make me feel good.”

They move quietly up the hill, through the grass. It whispers around their bodies. By the time they reach the small clearing the sun has pushed herself above the horizon, spilling light everywhere like a wineglass tipped sideways.

“Well, this is it,” Mingyu says with a little wave of his arm.

“Wow, you can see the whole base from here.” Seokmin stands at his side and smiles, eyes travelling north, east, south-east, then back to Mingyu. “How did you find this?”

“It was more of an accident than anything else. But somehow I remembered how to get back to it, so I come here, sometimes. To clear my head.”

Seokmin finds his hand and holds it, swings it between them like a child. “It’s really cool. Thanks for bringing me.”

Mingyu ducks his head, feels the sunrise against his smile. Seokmin squeezes his hand with a gentle laugh before letting it go. “I have an idea,” he says, taking a few steps away. He turns back to Mingyu with his body coiled and his fists loose, eyes bright with challenge.

Mingyu laughs and pushes the sleeves of his sweater up. It feels strangely melancholic, like he had forgotten any time they spend together from now on has to be earned. They won’t be working together. He’s not sure if Seokmin will even be staying at this base. The thought makes his stomach drop.

“When you’re ready,” Seokmin goads.

Mingyu strikes first this time, and from there, they dance; Seokmin moves like a surge of electricity and Mingyu moves to fit. He’s not sure who causes it, but they end up in a tangled heap on the grass. Trading blows turns to trading kisses—sweet, drawn out things that make Mingyu’s toes curl and his chest cave in. They lay there for so long that the sun moves out of their eyes and the standard morning schedule starts up, activity shuddering through the base like a wave. Voices and machines and bodies. Moons and suns and skies. Seokmin in Mingyu’s arms, and his breath again his skin.

“Your transfer… is it permanent?”

Seokmin repositions himself so that his chin is propped up on Mingyu’s sternum. “It can be. Depends on how well I do.”

Mingyu threads careful fingers through his hair, over his temple, and down the wondrous slope of his nose. “Then you better be perfect.”

Seokmin laughs, and Mingyu traces the sound with his fingertips. He doesn’t know what it is to be covered in stardust. His body is a home drenched in rebuilding—of his dreams, his life, himself. It took so long to be okay with the weights around his ankles that keep him here, where the gravity is to be expected and the people around him constantly leave and come back with traces of other galaxies on their skin.

It took so long, but maybe it was worth it. Maybe all that time was actually spent waiting for this—for Seokmin to break off a piece of him and swallow it down so that tomorrow, when he watches the take-off, he will know there is someone on that ship who holds a part of him.

Someone taking him to the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! 
> 
> if it interests you I wrote a breakdown on this story here: <https://dygonilly.dreamwidth.org/1195.html>


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